Market Forces
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Market ForcesChapter 23: Couch Potatoes free porn video
The training was finished, the script was finished. The first version of the video was shot. It was time to show it to Clegg.
Clegg sat back in his arm chair opposite the big video projection screen. "OK," he said, "let's see it."
I sat in the chair alongside him and hit 'play' on the remote. The Clegg logo span around in the middle of the screen and then dissolved to show a helpless girl in a car boot. A girl standing with her hands chained over her head followed, then another shot of a girl bound helplessly and pushed into a crate. Then the scene switched to an office. The camera panned around to face a woman, seated behind a desk. It zoomed in on her face showing her wide smile. In her mid forties, with big hair and a suit jacket with shoulder pads thick enough to land a helicopter on, she looked like she had stepped out of 1985. "Hi," she said. "I'm Angie Dennison. You'll remember my hit 80's show 'Miami Detective'. Quite a few of our dramas dealt with ladies in distress. Even me sometimes!" She laughed. "Nothing in that series compares with what happens these days. Just watch..."
I could see Clegg was leaning forward appreciatively. "How the devil did you get [i]her[/i] to introduce this? And what on earth does she think she's compèring?"
I let the video keep running.
The picture on the screen dissolved to the auction room in the Sales Centre. Angie's voice continued. "What will be the fate of girls like these?" As the picture came into focus five women could be seen sitting on the stage. Each was perched on a tall bar stool and wore a low cut dress with a short tight skirt. They all sat identically, hands clasped in their laps. They all wore the collars and number tags that marked them out as victims of Clegg's snatch squads.
The voice of a man off screen said, "Number 302 come forward please." The first of the girls climbed down form her stool and walked towards the front of the stage, teetering on high heels and making effort to walk gracefully in a skirt that was both too tight and too short for comfort. "302, your details please."
The girl looked to one side, obviously towards the voice that was directing her. "Your details, please," the voice repeated. She turned back towards the camera.
"I'm twenty one years old, a trainee accountant from Maidenhead in England. My measurements are 34, 23, 35. I'm 5 feet six inches tall and weigh 113 pounds. In my new life I could be your very personal assistant, because you see, as well as having a head for figures I know how to make use of my own." She reached behind her, obviously unzipping her dress. She shrugged off the shoulder straps and let the dress fall to the floor. "Wouldn't this make going over the month-end numbers more interesting?" she said, slipping the bra strap from her right shoulder, smiling at the camera and running her tongue across her lips.
"Thank you 302," the voice said. "Please put your hands behind your back." She did as asked. "Now tell us a little more about yourself, please."
"I've recently completed the first year of an accountancy course which I passed. I play sports at weekends - I'm part of a women's hockey team - and I exercise regularly. I'm, I'm," she hesitated.
"Go on, 302, the voice urged.
"I'm not particularly sexually experienced with either men or women but I have learned many of the basic skills during my initial training here and I'm sure I will be able to satisfy any prospective buyer in that area."
"Thank you very much, 302. Please take your seat." She walked back towards her stool. "Number 317, please."
The second girl came forward, her dress no less revealing than that of her predecessor, her heels no less high, her walk made slightly easier by the hip-high slit in her skirt. "Your details please, 317." The girl stared at the source of the voice. "Go on." She shook her head and held her face in her hands. "Go on, 317. I am sure you wish to be cooperative. You will remember how important this is for you. Do as you have been instructed." The girl bit her lip, looking from side to side. "Go on!" the voice barked. "Your age, your measurements, your weight, your skills. Continue!"
Slowly, the girl began. "I'm, uh, twenty three years old, from a small village in Oxfordshire, England. I am, I was a secretary for a firm of lawyers in Oxford. My, measurements are 38, 25, 36. I'm five feet three inches tall and weigh 120 pounds. I could be your very personal secretary," she was looking at the floor now, "and I am sure you'll want to take the law into your own hands."
"Look up, 317," the voice ordered.
The girl appeared to pull herself together. "I'm a competent typist and I can handle most office administration. I like to go clubbing, I'm a good dancer and I'm good to watch." She unfastened the front of her dress and took it off. She was clearly a little fatter and less fit than the first girl but her bigger breasts would be attractive to many. "I've had about twelve lovers, all but two of them men. You'll find that I am sexually skilled with both my mouth and my hands."
"Thank you 317, that was better," the voice said. "Now please give us a smile and return to your seat."
The girl did so.
The picture dissolved again to Angie Dennison. "Abduction, kidnapping, white slavery. Whatever you call it, these girls will have a whole new life." The picture returned to the auction room.
The girls were back on their stools, dressed quite differently, still wearing their collars and tags but now all gagged. The voice spoke again. "Girls, now you have the opportunity to demonstrate your skills for your potential new owners. Number 323, please."
A woman wearing a smart business suit, hat and gloves, stepped forward.
"Now, 323, you told us you were the sales manager for a packaging company. You also claimed you were used to using your charms on both your customers and your colleagues. Perhaps you can demonstrate that to us now?"
Music started and the girl looked straight into the camera. She struck a pose, hands on hips, head back. As the beat of the music picked up she began a sensuous striptease. Peeling her gloves off with the assistance of her teeth, she unbuttoned her jacket and trailed it behind her as she walked across the stage. She returned square to the camera and started to unbutton her blouse, bumping her hips as she did so. Her blouse followed her jacket to the floor of the stage, with her skirt and slip soon after. She spent longer parading herself in her underwear before removing her bra, stockings, shoes and finally panties.
The music faded. "Thank you, 323," the voice said. "Return to your seat." The camera zoomed in on the face of 323 as she stooped to collect her clothes. The camera caught the girl flushed with the effort of her dance; the beads of sweat, the drool from the gag and the streaks of mascara across her face.
"And now, 331, our student from Cardiff." The voice spoke once more. "Now you said you enjoyed amateur dramatics and your last performance was in 'Flower Drum Song.' So, let's see what your buyer can expect from you." A slight looking girl walked onto the stage wearing a short, blue silk cheong-sam, holding her hands palm to palm in front of her. She fell to her knees at the front of the stage and bowed her head to the floor. Then she lifted her head to show the bright blue ball that filled her mouth as a gag. She was swaying from side to side as she stayed on her knees in front of the camera. She smiled and got to her feet, ripping the fastening of her dress open and stepping out of it before going into an acrobatic dance routine that ended with a flying cartwheel and a splits landing, her face only inches from the camera.
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